


Cracked Stone

by RatTale



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst, Case Fic, First Kiss, Friendship, Hotch has a weird Daemon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23666239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatTale/pseuds/RatTale
Summary: “Has anyone ever wondered about Hotch’s daemon?”Because their ordinary, plain and simple-in-every-way-Unit Chief has a cracked stone monster for a soul. And of course a case involving tortured daemons will result in answering the question; "What is up with that?"
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & David Rossi, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Comments: 19
Kudos: 109





	Cracked Stone

**Author's Note:**

> This fic happened because when I watched criminal minds I just couldn't get the idea of Hotch's daemon as an odd Gargoyle out of my head. I hope you all enjoy!

“Has anyone ever wondered about Hotch’s daemon?”  


Prentiss glanced up from her work. When Morgan was bored he got very annoying. After a long – and quite honestly nasty case - their paperwork had piled up, and she was trying to make a dent in it before the day’s end. But Morgan could never focus long on mundane tasks. He was a ‘Man of action’ as corny as it was, but still very true. His own paperwork would most likely take three times as long. This meant he was bored, which meant he was about to start a conversation she would either have no interest in, or would get them in trouble for. But if she ignored it, he would only bug her until she caved. Turning back to her work she inwardly sighed and decided to indulge the man at least. “What about his daemon?”  


Morgan laughed, his tone a little relieved, “You’re not serious.” He stood quickly. Clearly trying to create a distance between himself and the looming work - _don't profile Prentiss!_. “The thing is made of stone, lumbers around on all fours like it’s about to fall over, and never has an expression.” He leans against her desk, “Don't get me wrong. It's a tough little sonovabitch, but it looks like a gargoyle.”  


“Actually you should rather say grotesque or chimera,” piped Reid from his desk. He was reading a book, his own damn work already done. “Gargoyle denotes the spouts found on the churches, and seeing as Gravel doesn’t have a spout he’s representative of the beast, not the function of a gargoyle, or gargle-“  


“Yeah, yeah okay!” Morgan waved him down, “Whatever it is, it’s weird.”  


Prentiss leveled him with a hard glare, “Whatever his daemon _is_ , it’s representing of his _soul_ , you can’t say it’s _weird_.”  


“I agree,” said Reid, absently reaching forward to pet Aristotle. The jack rabbit pulled its ears back, eyes half closed, “Saying someone’s daemon is weird, is like saying someone _looks_ weird. It’s not something they can help.”  


Again, Morgan raised his hands, “Okay, I get it. What I mean is…” he sat on the edge of the desk, hesitating, trying to find the words. “It’s different, a little peculiar, is all. I’ve just never seen anything like it.” He paused, shifted, then smiled, “Any theories?”  


“You’re not serious.” Said Prentiss. Mira, her jackal bared her teeth at Morgan, to which Bullet instantly responded with his own low warning growl. Morgan hastily patted his German Shephard, those two didn’t always get along.  


“I am,” he crossed his arms, “You all must have thought about it at some point. It’s something unique, gives us a different perspective on Hotch and offers a bit of insight into his character. Not like we don’t do it with each other.”  


Prentiss stared at him, mouth agape, Mira flicked her tongue and continued to bare her teeth, her hair slowly rising. “I don’t do that!” Prentiss finally exclaimed.  


“You’re in denial if you believe that.” said Reid, closing his book to sit back and watch them both, “Our daemons make it difficult not to draw conclusions about who we are. Morgan’s German Shephard suggest loyalty and strength of a soldier, he prefers to work in packs, but at the same time prefers to lead. Mira tells us that you prefer to work alone, and also like to be on the sidelines far more than in the lime-light. Our daemons are reflections of our soul, we can’t help but draw conclusions.”  


She turned to look at him, Mira crouching low, “And your damn rabbit is a reflection of a nosy little bastard that likes to upend the garden.”  


Aristotle thumped his paw twice, but Reid just shrugged. “It’s not like we haven’t made conclusions about Hotch’s daemon, we just don’t voice them.”  


“No profiling in the team.” Rossi walked by, file in hand and being followed by Giovanni his Brown Bear. The Italian’s usual friendly expression was marred by a touch of anger. His bear, a little smaller than usual kept close to his legs – a sure sign of comfort. When he paused at their desks, he snapped the folder shut, and looked at each of them in turn. “Least of all talking about souls.”  


A quick glance at Rossi had Morgan shuffling back to his desk, a little defeated. Bullet’s ears were pinned back. “Sorry.”  


Rossi watched them, and they each quickly returned to their work. Giovanni snorted, deep and rough. After another glance he headed up to his office. The room fell quiet, the soft sound of typing filling up the sudden silence once again.  


“I think it shows a damaged psyche.” said Reid.  


“ _Reid!_ ” Mira snapped her jaws, “ _Leave it be_!”  


“But I think so!” he said, quickly standing, Aristotle’s foot beginning to tap, “Think about it, daemons are representatives of a man’s soul. If that is true then his soul is represented by fractured rock, something broken and hurt. It never shows any emotion other than a continuous blank poker face, and it has no pupils, belying the idea that Hotch never, if ever smiles. But we’ve all seen him smile, yet his daemon doesn’t. It could very well be that his soul is so damaged that there is no more connection between, hence the reason Gravel is cracked and broken, without Hotch’s line, he is struggling to hold himself together.”  


“Good theory,” said Morgan, “But what fractured it? He was like that before I met him. And I went through a lot in my childhood, but Bullet seems fine.” He absently patted his German Shephard’s head, who happily threw his head back to bask in the attention.  


Aristotle’s foot started tapping faster as Reid picked up speed.  


“The theory isn’t based on what _you_ went through, but what _he_ went through. What one man can handle; another finds impossible. We are all built differently. It could be that Hotch simply couldn’t handle what was thrown at him, and so to cope, he cut himself off from his soul to help him cope. The method has been used by doctors, nurses, surgeons and even torturer’s in history. That way they can perform their duties without hurting their souls and thus hurting themselves.”  


“If that is true, then why can they still Whisper?” said Morgan “Cutting off from your daemon means cutting the connection, right? Which has proven, in the past, to cut off all connection. Which means they should only be able to communicate verbally.”  


“True, which is why I think the broken Psyche theory is the more valid one. He didn’t necessarily choose to cut off from his daemon. It happened because he had no other choice. But perhaps he’s still trying to keep a connection, no matter how faint.”  


Hold-up!” Prentiss sat back, “Peculiar daemons aren’t unheard of. You can find them anywhere in the world. Flickers, Textured, hell even smoke daemons exist. As strange as his daemon is, there are others that can arguably called stranger.”  


“That’s true.” Morgan said, “But they are rare.”  


“Less than 2 percent of the world population, maybe even less.”  


“So?” she held up her hands, “It’s not that unheard of. Maybe it’s just his daemon’s texture. Nothing more and nothing less.”  


Reid swallowed, “All known peculiar daemons are peculiar because of trauma.”  


“If you lot are quite done, Hotch has asked us to join him.”  


The three jumped, turning to find Rossi standing on the balcony, his expression fierce and a touch disappointed. Behind him stood Giovanni, on his hind legs, clearly at least a third larger than he was only a moment before. Mira yipped, her ears flat and teeth bared. Aristotle’s foot slammed down a final time, leaving the room in silence.  


Rossi left and with slow steps, the others followed. 

At the round table they found Hotch already there along with Rossi and JJ. Lyre, her doe, sat curled on the floor next to her. Ears pricked and the white of her eyes on display. Giovanni was sleeping by the door and behind Hotch sat Gravel. Mouth shut and blank eyes staring intently at the floor.  


“It’s a bad one,” JJ stood stock still, Lyre chewed a little, and shifted on the floor, unable to find a comfortable position.  


Morgan collapsed in his chair, “How bad?”  


“Pretty bad,” said Hotch, expression grim.  


JJ turned to the screen. “A few days ago, a constable from the NYPD found this body in an alleyway in the Bronx.” The screen showed a naked woman. Pale, eyes open and mouth agape. “She was tortured.”  


Reid frowned, “But there isn’t a mark on her.”  


JJ clicked the remote.  


“Jesus,” said Morgan.  


“That is…” Prentiss swallowed hard.  


“A dead soul, tortured and strangled.” Said Rossi, face pale. The poor cat had been burned, cut, broken, and mutilated. He looked down and away from the screen. Giovanni sat outside, currently too big to enter the room, but he could feel his Soul wish to edge closer.  


“This is the third body they have found in four months, with the exact same MO.” JJ flicked and two other faces popped up, “All three were naked, all three were found in alleyway, and all three’s daemons…” she clicked again and a dead spider monkey and blue bird appeared, “Were dropped next to them in this condition.”  


Reid cleared his throat, “Was the cause of death heart failure?”  


JJ nodded, “Yes it was.”  


“Makes sense.” Everyone looked at him, and Redi cleared his throat. “It takes days, if not weeks to kill someone through their soul.” Said Reid, his voice soft. Aristotle, sat pressed on his lap, “It’s easier to do so through the vessel, as the pain translation is not as potent through the soul as through the vessel. But it slowly becomes more intense as time goes go, but seeing as the vessel isn’t actually receiving the wounds their hearts usually just give out. Quite an effective torture method in the middle-ages.”  
With a quiet sigh Rossi sat back, pushing away from the screen a little. He couldn’t fathom how anyone could do this. Daemon attacks were exceedingly rare, almost non-existent. When they came up it was usually just torture, not murder. Damn people and their sick heads. He shook himself, Hotch was talking.  


“… have a few things I still need to do. We’ll leave in one hour.”  


The group dispersed, and Rossi stood to head for his office. Hoping to calm himself down enough to actually board the plane. In Giovanni's current state he wouldn’t be going anywhere. A hand on his shoulder stopped him dead in his tracks. When he turned Hotch’s expression was soft with concern, “You okay?”  


Rossi immediately smiled, “Fine Hotch, souls being killed… it just gets to me. In Italy to even touch another’s soul is as taboo as murder. This just hits a little close.”  


Hotch nodded a long, squeezing his shoulder before dropping from his hand, “I can see that. Even in America it’s not exactly polite to do so. But Giovanni was upset before you saw the case, Dave.”  


Just like Aaron, he thought a touch affectionately. The man would never leave anything he felt had to be addressed. Especially when it concerned the well-being of his team. Which made their earlier conversation all the more unacceptable. “I just overheard our posse discussing each other’s souls and gently reminded them that there is to be no profiling in the team.”  


For a long moment Hotch said nothing, his expression stony and fierce. He nodded once, “They were talking about Gravel.”  


Rossi shifted a little. Behind Hotch stood his daemon, his expression as vacant and hard as his vessel’s. If Rossi were honest with himself, he’d wondered about Hotch’s daemon in his life many a time, but he’d always stopped himself from truly analyzing it. Reid had been right, it most possible reflected some horrible trauma, some pain or hurt he couldn’t handle and his soul had quite literally cracked under the immensity of it. It pained Rossi to think Aaron handled it on his own, that now, with Hayley gone, he truly had no one to save him from the depths he often sinks to.  


He hated that. “Yes.” He said, “They were.”  


Hotch sighed, but surprised Rossi when he smiled, “it’s fine Dave. A lot of people have talked about him, to be honest I’m surprised it took them this long to do so.”  


He smiled in turn, “Well, it’s still a rule, and I’ll make sure they stick to it.”  


This time his smile was a little softer, almost grateful. “Thanks Dave.”  


They quietly headed for their offices, Giovanni finally back down to a more reasonable size.


End file.
